screams of tortured souls,
erupting like dragonflies,
that of the heart,
and of the magma,
buried within buried brain cells.
the souls are tired and weak,
restless and broken,
like glass shards in a strawberry smoothie,
half vodka,
half whiskey.
stories of the mind remain untold,
for there are no ears to listen,
only to hear.
volcanoes overflowing like words within skulls,
oh,
the children scream,
the sounds of scratched vinyls,
on cherry red colored record players.
